


The Betrayal of Divinity

by Zanik_of_the_Dorgeshuun



Category: Runescape
Genre: Ascension to Godhood, Gen, Involuntary Transformation, Quest: Children of Mah, Self-Hatred, Sixth Age, Suicidal Thoughts, Zarosians, general psychological awfulness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanik_of_the_Dorgeshuun/pseuds/Zanik_of_the_Dorgeshuun
Summary: Azzanadra, overcome with a new and unfamiliar power, is afraid of what he's about to become.Not rated, cos I'm awful at ratings, but I definitely tried to make it an intense and uncomfortable read, so... stay away if that ain't your cup of tea.





	The Betrayal of Divinity

The sensation was constant, the fierce heat of divinity burning into him. Every second, he held it back. But it persisted.

In lapses of attention, flares of power would flutter in his fingertips; once noticed, he could extinguish them with ease. A wave of his hand and the energy was lost to the air. Meaningless. Gone. 

Yet they returned, again, again, catching light at his extremities and growing. He quashed them, forcing, struggling them down with all his might. But the exertion brought exhaustion; it sapped his strength to fight.

With greater force, upwards they spread, a wildfire through dry tinder. Godhood began to catch him aflame but always, always, it was pushed back. It had to be.

There came a day when it could not.

He was standing before the altar of his Lord, leaning forward, gripping its edge to ease his mind. The power of Zaros resonated in the air; he felt he could begin to rest easy.

His guard was down. It struck.

It shot through him, capilliary vein artery right into his heart and it _wracked_ him, shook him with an energy he had never known before. This was not Zaros' power. This was him! His own power rising against him and he could not have this, he could not, this defied his devotion and dared to be something of its own—

**NO!**

This was not who he was! It could not be! He was the perfect servant for his Lord, a pristine window for him, unsullied by his own designs. A channel for his Lord's power, not a power in himself. Whatever this was, it HAD to be purged.

And so with hatred, obsession, he pushed the energy back, heaving, contorting, shuddering in his resistance. It warped him, but he endured out of sheer stubborn will, battling the undying force. He pulsed ancient magic, encasing his form in arcane ice, making himself near-impervious to change – yet still! Still the fire forced through...

His reactions had slowed, numbed by chill. In slowing the progress, he had hindered his ability to fight back. A few pathetic, pitiful pushes, the last he could manage. It was nothing. Too late.

The fierce heat overcame him. Filled with dread, he felt himself transform.

His body shifted, became more than it had been. His horns grew, his spikes lengthened. The spines on his head expanded, slicing through the hat that marked him as Pontifex Maximus and sending it clattering to the ground. 

The power lifted him into the air, rippling within and without. He was aglow with energy; it burst out in flashes and spun around to engulf him. Finally, it dropped him to the floor. Its work was done.

Azzanadra lay twisted on the ground, the high priest prostrate before the altar of his Lord, and he... he was heresy. His spirit followed the Empty Lord but his body dared to be a god of its own, and it ached, overwhelmed him with a despairing pain.

He could not do this, he could not, could not live on as an insult of contradiction to the one who he adored. He wished with the force of his agony to stab deep into himself and gouge out the godhood within. But godhood was all of him now. Nothing remained of the mahjarrat he once was.

He could not bring himself to face his Lord, not with his body a divine betrayal. Shame weighed down upon him even imagining what his Lord would think.

He lay there in disgust.

He cursed himself, knowing he could have resisted. Should have resisted, if he were a truly worthy follower of his god.

Then he remembered. The slightest hope. Sliske's damned maze... it had suppressed the divinity of the gods within. That had been Jas' doing.

He would find the Elder Halls. He would ask Jas, or one of her sisters, to suppress his godhood and restore his original nature. Perhaps she would accept, in the interests of returning her sister's creation to the way he was created to be. Perhaps she would strike him down where he stood.

Either outcome would be a success.

**Author's Note:**

> [note that what Azzanadra thinks of his transformation and what he thinks Zaros would think of it are likely very different to what Zaros would actually think, but of course Zaros isn't here to say otherwise]


End file.
